Cosmic Forces: Book Three in The Jake Helman Files Series

by Gregory Lamberson

  That’s just a drop in the bucket with a current global population of more than six billion people.

  Despite her professed concern for those souls, Sheryl seemed much more worried about the implications behind Abel’s disappearance.

  There’s nothing like losing a member of your own team to awaken you to the presence of an encroaching enemy.

  He imagined she and the other agents of Light were more than a little alarmed to realize their existence had a possible expiration date after all.

  Eternal bliss: one more bill of goods sold by the power brokers.

  The story Jake had been dreading came on the air: another blonde newswoman stood before Gracie Mansion, surrounded by other media people and police personnel.

  “Carol,” she said to her anchor, “we’re being told very little by authorities at this moment, but our own sources tell us the calamity you see behind me centers around the possible disappearance of New York City’s first lady, Marla Madigan. Mayor Madigan was out of the city last night but returned this morning when the Gracie Mansion security detail alerted city hall to Mrs. Madigan’s unexplained absence. The mayor’s spokesperson has not issued a statement yet, but we’ll keep you posted when he does.”

  So it’s out there. No mention of Reichard or where Myron Madigan was when Marla disappeared. Not surprising since Reichard owns the network. Jake sighed. He could not believe Marla’s disappearance was a coincidence or that Madigan had nothing to do with it. And the mayor wouldn’t have just sentenced her to another stay in an institution if he was making her disappearance public. She’s dead. He knew it.

  The clouds parted and the aircraft descended, circling Buffalo Niagara International Airport. He had visited Buffalo with Sheryl once because she had wanted to see the Albright-Knox Art Gallery, and they had timed their trip to coincide with an arts festival downtown. Jake had been impressed by the city’s architecture, particularly its grand mansions and churches.

  Sheryl.

  His thoughts always returned to her. Was she watching him now? He had to assume so.

  Among the last to depart the plane, Jake followed the other passengers through the small airport to an escalator that led to the baggage claim. From there he stepped outside and crossed the asphalt to the car rental facility.

  Fifteen minutes later, in a black Ford Escape, he looped the Cheektowaga airport and accessed a highway. Fifteen minutes after that, he was surrounded by trees and caught himself scanning the open sky for high-rises, only to find clouds. He enjoyed the drive, speeding up only to pass numerous semitrucks, and ticked oft” the signs he passed bearing Indian names: Lackawanna, Fredonia, Cassadaga.

  He turned oft” at the Dunkirk-Fredonia exit and checked into the Fulbright Inn, where Carrie had booked him, which faced Chadwick Bay. Inside his room on the second floor, he tossed his bag on the second bed, used the bathroom, and then hit the road again. It took just fifteen minutes to reach Cassadaga Lake, and then the sign for Lily Dale loomed before him.

  According to his research, Lily Dale was founded in 1879 as a retreat for Spiritualists. The 167-acre community was owned by “the assembly,” a religious order comprised of freethinkers who believed death merely served as transition for living creatures into nonliving entities. Jake gave the Spiritualists credit for getting that right, even if their belief in spirits veered toward the creaky spectrum of what he knew to be true.

  A single road led into Lily Dale, and that same road provided the only exit. As he neared the empty tollgate, he reminded himself that only 250 people lived in Lily Dale year round, 35 of them as registered mediums. The population swelled during the summer season when as many as 22,000 tourists flooded the assembly.

  With the season still two months away, Jake coasted past the gate and into the hilly village’s empty streets. New Age crystals and signs for psychics, healers, and tarot card readers filled the windows of the cottages that crowded the hills. Jake drove along the main street, turning his head from side to side as he searched for Deer Lane. Finally, he parked in the gravel parking lot of a gray Victorian house that appeared to be an inn and set off on foot. He passed a library, a museum, a post office, and a volunteer fire department, but he saw no police station, which led him to wonder if crime existed in a town full of psychics.

  His trek became a walking tour, which he didn’t mind, even though the temperature felt a good ten degrees lower than in Manhattan. At last he saw someone, an older man who stood on a stepladder, dislodging clumps of rotten leaves from the gutters of his house with a garden rake. The man wore a blue baseball cap that shaded his eyes as he turned in Jake’s direction. Jake smiled and waved, but the man just gave him a sullen nod and returned to his chore.

  Jake passed a dirty white building on top of cinder blocks. At first he thought it was a church, but on closer inspection he saw it housed public bathrooms. The trees around the road grew denser, and he found himself standing in the middle of an outdoor meeting place with wooden benches facing a pulpit carved into an enormous tree trunk. A chill ran down his spine, and he looked around for signs of life. He knew it was silly to be frightened of the gathering place, but he couldn’t help himself. Inspecting the pulpit, he imagined druids and pagans dancing naked at night rather than tourists attending a lecture by Deepak Chopra.

  Wind blew his hair, and he followed a path that took him through what appeared to be a makeshift graveyard. Inspecting the names and inscriptions on the markers—some stone, some wood—he realized that he had stumbled onto a pet cemetery. He detected movement near the ground not far from him and jerked his head in that direction, his arms recoiling.

  A black cat wandered between two graves.

  “Visiting deceased relatives?” The sound of his voice caused the cat to bolt. “I don’t blame you.”

  Emerging from the woods, Jake crossed a road and saw the street he wanted ahead. His thighs tightened as he climbed the hill, and as he located the house number he sought, the front door opened and a thick woman wearing work boots, jeans, and a curly blonde wig stepped onto the wooden porch.

  Jake stood on the concrete walkway, uncertain how to introduce himself.

  The woman’s mouth opened but no sound came out.

  Jake raised his eyebrows, wondering why he had startled her so much.

  “Come on,” the woman said at last, composing her wits. “You’ll catch cold standing in the damp air like that. I know you’re here to see me.”

  Jake climbed the wooden steps, which squeaked beneath him. “I’m Jake Helman.”

  The woman smiled as if she already knew or just didn’t care. “And I’m Abby Fay.”

  Entering the house, Jake faced a wooden stairway with a living room to his left and a dining room to his right. The interior seemed dark even with the blinds open and lights on, and a damp, musty smell assailed his nostrils. Abby Fay had lived here a long time. The door closed behind him, and he heard the woman moan.

  “Oh, my . . .” Abby brushed against him on her way to the floor, where she sprawled out.

  Jake kneeled beside the woman and rolled her onto her back. Her mouth opened and closed and her eyelids fluttered, and her wig sat lopsided on her head. Jake set his hands on the back of her head, attempting to raise it.

  Her eyes snapped open and she recoiled. “Don’t touch me!”

  Jake held his hands up for her to see. “Okay, okay . . . What can I do to help you?”

  Abby drew in her breath and swallowed, searching the confines of her own home. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I’ve never felt anything like this in my life.” She focused on him. “I’ll be all right. I just need to get up—please don’t help me.”

  Rising, Jake spied a walker in the corner by the door. He moved it within her reach.

  “Thank you.” Abby grabbed the walker with flabby fingers and pulled herself upright, then struggled to her feet. “Hoo, boy.” Adusting her wig, she regarded Jake with what appeared to be wonder. “You’ve got some powerful mojo.” She gestured in the dir
ection of the dining room. “Let’s go in the kitchen.”

  Using the walker, Abby led him through the dining room, which overflowed with stacks of newspapers, magazines, and books, and into the kitchen, where she removed some dishes from a table and set them into a deep sink. She filled a glass with tap water and gulped it down. Water marks stained the ceiling, and the linoleum on the floor peeled in several places. The chairs at the table did not match. Liquor bottles covered the counter.

  “I hope you don’t mind conversing in here,” Abby said. “My parlor’s a mess. I haven’t even started cleaning up for the summer season.”

  Jake saw a row of prescription drug vials arranged on the counter.

  “Not that I expect to live that long.” She pointed at her wig. “Cancer. The doctors give me three months, tops.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jake wondered what malady had caused the woman’s collapse.

  “Don’t be. Only half of these drugs are for my physical illness. The others are for migraines and psychosis.” She offered him a weak smile. “The voices in my head sometimes make me a little batty.”

  He did not know how to respond.

  “Don’t say anything. Just have a seat.”

  Just like Laurel.

  They sat opposite each other, and Abby drew a cigarette from a half-empty pack. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you? There’s no point in quitting now.”

  “Go ahead.” He paused. “Outside, you seemed as if you were expecting me.”

  Hand trembling, Abby lit her cigarette with a match, which she shook out and deposited in the ashtray. “I sensed you. There’s a difference.”

  Laurel probably called or sent psychic smoke signals.

  “Nobody told me you were coming. I sensed you, like I said. That’s what I do.” She narrowed one eye at him. “She calls herself Laurel now, eh? Laurel Doniger?”

  Jake nodded. He had always suspected that Laurel used an alias. “How do you know each other?”

  “We didn’t meet on the psychic hotline. If she didn’t tell you, I’m not going to, either. She’s got her secrets. I’ve got mine. Actually, that isn’t true. I’m a pretty open book. I’ve lived here for thirty-five years, ever since I left my husband. Couldn’t stand sensing his thoughts: how I scared him, how he cheated on me and wished I’d die. So I made it easy on him and came here.” She tapped her cigarette in the ashtray. “I normally charge seventy-five dollars a session, but this one’s on me.”

  “I can afford the fee.”

  Abby took a long drag on her cigarette. “Good for you, but I don’t want your money. Don’t need it where I’m going. The doctors want me to prepare myself for hospice, but I’m not going anywhere. I figure I can wipe my own ass, and when I can’t, I’ve got plenty of friends here who can. Besides, they’ll just try to keep me alive, and I’m ready to be on my way.”

  “I guess you’re a staple of this town.”

  “We’re not a town; we’re an assembly. Every person who owns a house here belongs to the assembly, and every practitioner is licensed by the assembly.”

  “I suppose that’s one way of making sure the neighborhood never changes.”

  Whenever he spoke, Abby’s eyes widened.

  “You got me figured out. I don’t need to touch people, like Laurel does. My receivers are more finely tuned than that. I read vibrations, never more clearly than when someone speaks to me. And, boy, I’m reading a whole lot in your voice—more than I’ve ever read in anyone else’s. It’s not every day I meet someone who completely alters what I’ve believed for fifty years.”

  She had a habit of putting him on the spot. “How did I do that?”

  “Do you know who Margaret and Kate Fox were?”

  Jake nodded. He had read about the Fox sisters during his flight, though he had been unable to concentrate on the information.

  “Don’t keep your thoughts bottled up. I can read your mind well enough to get the answers to my questions, but I need to hear your voice to get a more complete picture of your problem.”

  “They were two teenage girls who supposedly communicated with spirits. It’s because of their fame that mediums and psychics settled here.”

  Abby showed her approval by giving Jake a slight bow. “The Fox family lived in Hydesville, New York, outside Rochester, in the nineteenth century. That’s just over an hour from here, but don’t go looking for the town. It doesn’t exist anymore. The house was supposedly haunted even before the Fox family moved in, and it wasn’t long before they started hearing sounds inside the walls, like someone tap-tap-tapping in code. Margaret and Kate, the two youngest daughters, began communicating with the spirits in the house, tapping and rapping on the walls in response to the sounds they heard. Alarmed, their parents sent them to live separately with different relatives. But the sounds followed each girl wherever they went. Mediums confirmed their story and abilities, and word spread like wildfire. All across the state and then across the country, people wanted to see the girls who communicated with the spirit world. Their older sister, Leah, became their manager, and they conducted seances for celebrities and became darlings of high society, attracting thousands of fans and followers.”

  “The birth of Spiritualism,” Jake said.

  “Spiritualism became linked to radical political movements of the time, like abolition and equal rights for women, and Lily Dale became a Mecca for those movements. This was the place for freethinkers and mentalists who operated outside the mainstream. Susan B. Anthony spoke here when no one else would have her. We’re still proud of that legacy.”

  “But it was all a hoax, wasn’t it?”

  “Margaret and Kate became heavy drinkers. This is sadly common among mediums, as you might guess from all the bottles in here. Sometimes we have to dull our senses so we can hear ourselves think. Margaret and Kate had a disagreement with Leah and other leaders in the Spiritualist community, who basically served as their handlers. In a blow to the movement, Margaret appeared before a crowd of two thousand people and announced that the entire affair had been a sham. The Foxes’ finances dried up, and all three sisters died inside of five years.”

  “So Lily Dale was built around lies.”

  Abby smiled. “It didn’t matter. The Fox girls brought believers together, and here we remain. People think New England is the most haunted place in the country, but New York has always been the focal point for psychics and mediums. There’s something in the earth here, in the air and in the water. The Fox sisters never lived in Lily Dale, but after their deaths, their cottage was relocated here to serve as a museum piece and a symbol. It burned down back in 1955.”

  “Let me guess: the ruins are haunted.”

  “No. But with so many psychics and mediums gathered in one location, a lot of spirits have passed through Lily Dale.”

  “I’m sure plenty of frauds have passed through, too.”

  “Oh, there are con artists, all right. Predators and charlatans exist in every field. I’ve seen them come and I’ve seen them go. But I’ve never seen anyone like you, Jake Helman—never felt anyone like you. You’ve touched the spirit world and been touched by it. I see a glow inside you . . .”

  Sheryl. . .

  “There’s no middle ground in your world, no restless spirits wandering the earth. Except for these Soul Searchers and . . . zonbies.”

  Jake swallowed. At least he knew when Laurel had invaded his mind.

  Abby’s breathing increased. “Angels and demons. I never accepted the Bible as anything more than an attempt by primitive minds to rationalize life and death and impose whatever moral standard suited them, but you’ve broken bread with Cain and Abel.” Her eyes widened with equal parts fear and awe. “You touched an angel just this morning when you kissed your dead wife.”

  You’re talented, Jake thought. “If I’ve learned anything in the last year and a half, it’s that different beliefs and forces don’t necessarily rule each other out. It’s a big universe.”

  Realizing that her ciga
rette had become ash, Abby lit another. “True. But you’ve been up close and personal with so many things. Not just spirits but actual monsters.”

  “Then you know that’s why I’m here.”

  Abby’s expression reflected consternation. “I don’t know what the hell those things are, but in my opinion, your mayor and those old power brokers are much more dangerous than the creatures that attacked you.”

  “Those things are the key to this whole mess. Laurel was sure you’d be able to identify them for me.”

  Abby’s eyes glassed over and she stopped blinking. She spoke in a slow cadence. “The key will save your life” Then she blinked several times and shook her head. “Laurel misled you, though her heart was in the right place. I’ve never seen a monster in my life. Sitting here, reading your vibrations just makes me want to hide under my bed and never come out. Laurel knows I settled here for a reason. This region is home to powerful, ancient forces. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to understand them, and after speaking to you for fifteen minutes, I feel closer to the truth now than in all the expeditions I’ve made around the state. Reichard and his cronies are here for the same reason. So was Nicholas Tower. These men are real bad apples.” Setting her cigarette in the ashtray, she interlaced her fingers. “We’re all tied together somehow.”

  “What about Marla Madigan?”

  “I can’t say. But I think your instincts are right. Those bastards took her.”

  “I was hoping for something more concrete than that.”

  Abby exhaled a stream of smoke. “Did you bring anything that belonged to her?”

  Jake took out his cell phone. “Just her voice.”

  She nodded in a thoughtful manner. “That’s perfect.”

  Jake searched through his messages, selected one, and pressed the speaker button.

  A moment later, they both heard Marla’s voice. “This message is for Jake Helman. I’d rather not give you my real name. Just call me Mrs. White. I’d like to engage your services. Please call me back so we can arrange a meeting.”